


Rough

by Camfield



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camfield/pseuds/Camfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bluestreak doesn't like it rough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough

Bluestreak didn't like it rough.

He didn't like it when pain pricked the edge of his sensor net when he was trying for pleasure, offering pleasure. It made no sense to him. Why anyone would want to mix war and love that way.

Though he wasn't naive enough to think that it was all love, and he wasn't stupid enough to think that everyone else thought that way as well.

So when he begged Jazz to take him hard, it was with the understanding that the mech would be firm, powerful. A rock that stopped his motion and pinned him down with nothing but his own weight.

And he cried out. Begging and pleading for Jazz in the most primal and visceral way he could. Optics blown white and digits pawing at armor, hips unable to move because they were held down. Unable to catch the other mech with legs that had been rendered strutless from a talented mouth, and now a talented spike. Driving in and out of him in a slow, measured rhythm that spoke of care and devotion to the moment.

Vocals unable to create a single word, all of them mixed up and jumbled between languages and what was or wasn't even real. Field flooded with his own desperate need for connection and affection and a sheer wall of love that resonated with his spark. Stretching in its capacity to encompass this mech who'd offered him salvation in ways so ancient they were all but forgotten.

He begged. Until it was nothing more than a steady rising and falling keen that came from him. Servos that petted and smoothed over Jazz's jaw and chest, each time with the understanding that he knew what he was and what he couldn't be and he accepted it.

Close to overload, close to breaking, and he still begged.

"Let it go, Baby Blue, 'm here for ya."

His world painted white with his own devotion.


End file.
